


Oh My Days

by awkwardsorta



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: M/M, Soft Boys, undefined relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 09:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardsorta/pseuds/awkwardsorta
Summary: “You’ve got freckles,” he says, finally, and Craig touches his nose reflexively. “All the sun,” he says.Chris and Craig get cute in Birmingham





	Oh My Days

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt:
> 
> #20: Mine’s maybe a bit old school but could I have Chris/Kiesy, other than that in terms of setting/dates I don’t mind and I’d rather it either not be an au or just kind of semi-au

 

_Just joking_ , Craig’s text says, _what are you having them with?_

Chris takes a picture of the empty plates around the table and sends it back. _Had_ , he writes, _Didn’t take the family long to demolish them!_

_Can see lemons… sugar……. No nutella????? Thought you were better than that woakesy. Need me to show you the light?_

_How fast can you get here?_

 

Chris picks him up from New Street on a Saturday in March. It’s unseasonably warm and the city centre is swarming with people, winter coats discarded and sunglasses on. Chris stands in front of the arrival board, peering to see if Craig’s train has arrived, and a crowd of Villa fans go by, shirts on and beers in hand, heading for the 12:00 to London.

Craig’s got his sunnies on too, the same Raybans he wore the whole time in Dubai, and he’s clutching an overnight bag of soft brown leather. He grins at Chris, coming through the ticket barrier, and waves the bag in greeting, nearly knocking out the man next to him. Craig grimaces, and Chris laughs. “Making friends already?” he says when Craig is close enough, and Craig says, “Hide me.”

Hugging Craig is the same as it always is, he hugs with abandon and then pulls away before Chris expects it. Chris says quickly, “I’ve parked in the shopping centre,” to cover up the way he held on longer than Craig did, and nods towards the escalators. “Lead the way,” Craig says, and then, “Can we get coffee?”

“Not here,” Chris says, “I’ve got the good stuff at home.” 

“I bet you do,” Craig says, and if Chris goes pink it doesn’t matter; Craig’s looking down at his phone anyway, weaving between oncoming shoppers as he flicks through whatsapps.

He grabs Chris’s ipod in the car and starts bemoaning getting rid of his as he scrolls through the songs. “My phone doesn’t fit as many as this,” he’s saying, and puts on Nelly. Chris starts laughing. “Tune,” he says, approvingly and Craig tries to rap along. Chris can feel his eyes on him as he’s driving, Craig sprawled on his seat and grinning at Chris from behind his shades, and he smiles the whole way out of the city centre, through the terraced streets and past the university, and out into the leafy suburbs. 

“To be fair,” Chris says, as he lets them into his house, still debating Craig’s DJing choices, “That Gabrielle song is a classic.” 

He kicks off his shoes and throws the keys on the hall table. Craig bows, accepting the praise, and shuts the door behind him. “Alright?” he says, after a pause when they’re both just standing there grinning at each other, and then he bounds forward to wrap Chris up in another hug that’s over all too soon.

“I’m starving,” he announces, and Chris risks a hand to his waist, pushing him in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Come on then,” he says. “You better have brought the Nutella.”

 

After the pancakes they find a stream of dubious quality on Chris’s laptop and hook it up to the TV so that Chris can watch Villa lose in tragic fashion to Arsenal. “We’re going down,” Chris says morosely. They’re lounging side by side on the couch, legs kicked out across the floor and empty beer bottles on the coffee table. Craig reaches across and pats Chris’s stomach in sympathy. “Oof,” Chris says, wincing. “Steady.”

“Sorry,” Craig says, and rubs it instead before he takes his hand away. “We’ll be alright,” he says. “We’ve done enough this season to keep us up.”

“We,” Chris smiles up at him. 

“They’re my boys,” Craig says, holding out his beer to tap against Chris’s. “You know that.”

Arteta scores a third in the last minute of added time, a sweet, clean free kick over Shay Given’s head, and Chris switches it off in disgust. “Fucksakes.”

“Gave away some easy goals there,” Craig says, and Chris scoffs. “The Villa way,” he says. “We’re so shit against the top four. You put us in front of some decent footballers and it’s like every player on Villa just stands there gawping at them.”

“Chelsea next weekend too,” he says, bitterly. “Another opportunity to disgrace ourselves.”

“Oh,” Craig says, reaching out and ruffling Chris’s hair, letting his arm fall down around his shoulders. “It’ll be ok bru.” 

“Said like someone who doesn’t know the pain of supporting a team outside the big four,” Chris says, and looks over. Craig’s mouth drops open. “Hey!” he says, “I’m a Villa fan!” 

“Mmhmm,” Chris says, laughing now. 

“Do I or do I not have the shirt?”

“The one I got you?”

“Exactly.” There’s a pause and Craig’s slunk closer, his arm hooked around Chris’s shoulders now, his head tipped back, watching Chris. He’s close enough that Chris feels his cheeks get hotter when he meets Craig’s eyes, wide and dark. 

“The one I’ve only seen you wear once?” Chris asks, smiling.

“Are you doubting my loyalty?” Craig says, and his accent comes out stronger at times like this. _Dubai brought all your freckles out_ , Chris thinks, and he says, “Never,” but there’s a slight laugh in his voice.

Craig tells him to fuck off, but then he leans across the space between them and kisses Chris, and Chris brings a hand up to hover by his cheek, not quite brave enough yet to touch him.

 

Chris doesn’t have much to compare Craig’s kisses to, not as far as men go, not unless you count a hurriedly aborted kiss with a boy he met at a party when he was seventeen and never saw again. Craig kisses the same way he does everything else, enthusiastic and self-conscious. Chris has seen him kiss Ravi too, although he doesn’t think Ravi was as into it as Chris is. They had all been horrendously drunk at the time, on a beach in the Caribbean and Chris watching from a few feet away, guilty with how envious he was that they could do that and people only laughed about it. Ravi wiped his mouth and shouted at Craig for slobbering, and Craig fronted up to him, and Chris only sat quietly, trying to laugh along.

“Look at Woakesy,” someone said, Chris thinks it was Liam, “You’re scarring him for life.”

He spent too much time that tour watching and hoping, sitting on Craig’s single bed in the room he shared with Hildreth, eating more Cadburys than they admitted to the nutritionist. Evenings playing Call of Duty with Craig next to him, pressed up against each other and Chris never knew if it was out of necessity or not.

 

Craig touches Chris’s hip, over his t-shirt, and then under it, fingers pushing the material up so he can fit his palm around Chris’s waist and pull him in. He watches Chris the whole time like Chris might not be into this, and Chris smiles. He’s known Craig long enough; what seems like arrogance is ninety percent bravado, or Chris would never have let Craig talk himself into Chris’s bed on a bad chat-up line in Dubai. 

 

It had been building for a while, texts getting flirtier and Chris unable to shake the suspicion that the Lions grapevine had been working in the background. They arrived in Dubai together and that’s how it stayed for the next three weeks. When Craig had announced to the others that no one was invited to join them in their film because they wanted to cuddle, Chris laughed it off with the rest of them, but Craig got into his bed when they got back to the room. “Oh you meant it?” he’d said, feeling like an idiot. Craig asked him if he wanted Craig to give his bed back, and Chris blushed and said no.

 

Craig kisses him again. Chris says, “Are you trying to distract me from Villa’s disgraceful performance?”

“No.” Craig grins. “Trying to get your clothes off.”

Chris laughs and, after a moment, Craig sits back. He keeps looking at Chris though, and Chris lets himself look back. 

“You’ve got freckles,” he says, finally, and Craig touches his nose reflexively. “All the sun,” he says.

 

He told Steve in Bristol, sitting in the sunshine by the harbour. Too many hours in each other’s company and Steve had always been someone Chris felt comfortable around. 

“I kind of guessed,” Steve said. “Sorry.” 

Chris laughed and went red and told Steve that was okay. It was just that Chris was pretty quiet, Steve said apologetically, and never talked about girls. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, and Chris laughed again, relief coming out of him. “No,” he said, “I don’t meet a lot of guys really.”

“Do you like anyone?” Steve asked, and Chris squinted out at the bright water, sunshine catching in his eyes, and thought of big grins and boisterous company. He shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “Not really.”

 

In Manchester Steve persuaded Chris to go into town with him and Jade after the game. The rest of them begged off after a few drinks at the ground and Chris tried not to worry about how it looked, him going out when he didn’t even play. It had been nice, though, just the three of them. Jade had apologised for taking them somewhere more upmarket than the student bars around, but Steve had said it didn’t matter, he was too awkward to pull and Chris —. 

“Chris is far too good looking to be let loose amongst the unsuspecting girls or boys of Manchester,” Jade had said, or something like that. Chris’s memory isn’t entirely clear of the night, but he remembers the relief that had flooded through him. He had thought of the other Steve, Jade’s Steve, and his heartrate had calmed down. 

 

Chis takes Craig to his local to watch the late kick-off. One of his brothers and his uncle are there, and Chris makes the introductions before diving into a minute-by-minute analysis of the earlier match. They’ve only got as far as the first goal when Chris’s brother stands up and steers his way past their knees, cuffing Chris affectionately round the head as he passes. “They’ll be here for ages,” he says to Craig. “Drink?”

Chris makes a mild protest, but Craig grins at him and follows Nathan, and his uncle’s moved on to debate the gap left in the side by Dunne’s absence. 

He thinks about cooking for Craig, but he only moved out of his parents’ a year ago, and he’s still uneasy beyond a jar of pasta sauce and grilled chicken. “We’re probably safer with the food here,” he tells Craig, and his brother agrees. 

“What about you, Craig?” Nathan asks, “Do you go home for dinner as much as Chris does?”

“It’d be a longer trip for me I think,” Craig says. “I’ve learnt to fend for myself. In fairness though, I am a bit older.”

“What, one year!” Chris scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “Get out. Your mum still does everything when she comes to visit.”

Craig’s laughing. “She only comes a couple of times a year, Chris, that doesn’t stack up really does it?”

“She stayed with Craig last weekend,” Chris says, turning to his brother. “And she did—what was it?—she did all his laundry, all his ironing, cooked all his meals—have I missed anything?”

“Absolute lies,” Craig says. “Absolute lies.” 

 

In Dubai that winter the presence of the England team alongside the Lions had made it feel so much bigger than the last time they had been there. The younger guys stuck together, too nervous to relax completely in front of the senior players, except for Craig. He bounced between groups, irritating older players till they kicked him out and then cuddling up to Chris and abusing Jade from Chris’s lap. Chris hadn’t known what to do, so he just laughed and let Craig carry on.

 

Craig’s hair is soft when Chris pushes his hands through it. “This is nice,” Craig says. “Beats a hotel room eh?” 

Chris looks around him, assessing his sitting room. His mum did the decor and the photos framed on the bookshelves were a present from his sister-in-law. The curtains are closed and the film they started is still playing in the background. “Not sure my sofa’s more comfy than a hotel bed,” he says, and Craig’s eyes light up before he’s finished his sentence. “I know what you’re going to say,” Chris says, and Craig bursts out laughing. 

“Are you looking forward to the summer?” he says, after he’s got over his amusement and kissed Chris a while longer.

“Yeah.” Chris rests his cheek against the cushion, and touches Craig’s arm, testing out how much three pints will let him take the lead. “Don’t think it’ll be in an England shirt, though. Didn’t really do a lot this winter, did I?”

“You need more confidence,” Craig says. “You’re the best pace bowler in the Lions, you’ve proved yourself on the international stage, you’re going to be a permanent fixture within the year. You’ve got to sell yourself, prove you believe it.”

Chris gives him a rueful smile. “I need some of your self-belief,” he says, and Craig snorts. “Mate,” he says, “I’m just here shouting about anything I’m worried about. I know Jos will take my keeping place so I need to be taken seriously as an out and out batsman.”

“But you are,” Chris says, “You open the batting, it doesn’t get more established than that.”

Craig shrugs. “A run of poor form and I won’t even have my wicket keeping to fall back on. So every chance I have I just shout about not just being a wicketkeeper-batsman and hopefully the message sinks in.” He waits a beat and then laughs.

“Like subliminal messaging?”

“Exactly. Like inception.”

Chris rubs his thumb over the inside of Craig’s wrist, and Craig leans in to kiss him again.

 

In Dubai, Craig told Chris, half-asleep, half in each other’s arms, that he was, “So pretty.” 

“Boys aren’t meant to be pretty,” Chris had said, sleepily, eyes closed. 

“Who told you that?” Craig said. “I’m pretty.” And Chris laughed.

 

Chris drives them out to his golf club the next day. They wake up together and Craig has a pillow mark across his cheek. Chris laughs and Craig kisses him to make him stop, but Chris laughs a few more times before they’re done. 

It’s still there, faint on his cheek, when Chris looks up from selecting a 7-iron. Chris grins, can’t help it, and Craig tells him to fuck off straight away. 

They’re pretty evenly matched, and they work their way through a hundred or so balls before Craig calls time. “Looks like a good course,” he says as they make their way back to the clubhouse, and Chris agrees. “You should come again with your clubs and we’ll play a round.”

They eat lunch there, outside on the patio in the March sunshine. Chris basks, face tipped up to the sun, and laughs that the weather’s just playing along, pretending they’re still in the UAE. 

“Except we don’t have to put up with Jade’s horror chat,” Craig says, and Chris laughs. “Haven’t seen the old boy since we got back,” he says, “Wonder how he is?”

“God, must we? I’m just enjoying the peace and quiet.”

Chris still takes a picture and sends it to Jade, and a minute later Jade replies. _That surely isn’t mr no carbs with a burger bun in front of him? You boys have fun x_

Craig complains that the season hasn’t started yet, and takes out his phone to return fire, but he leaves most of his bun on the side of his plate.

 

Chris checks the kitchen clock back at home and says, “Time for a brew before you leave?”

“Never say no to a tea,” Craig says, resting his elbows on the island and fiddling with his phone. 

Chris glances at him as he fills the kettle. “Still texting Jade?”

“Hm?” Craig looks up. “Oh, no. Jos.”

Chris busies himself with mugs and teabags and getting the milk from the fridge. “Yorkshire alright?” he says, putting it in the mug before Craig’s answered. When he turns round to check, Craig leaves his phone and comes over to him. “No sugar,” he says, “I’m being good.”

“So no chocolate either?” Chris teases, and Craig sighs, dropping his head down to the counter. “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels,” he mumbles, and Chris strokes a daring hand over his head. 

“I’m going to be good,” Craig says, straightening up, and Chris’s hand falls away. “Season starts in two weeks.”

“You might be good, I’m having a hobnob,” Chris says. 

“You’ve got nothing on you,” Craig says, objecting, catching the bottom of Chris’s t-shirt lightly between his fingers. Chris makes a face, and Craig tugs. “I’ve seen under here,” he says. “You are skinny—and you feel pretty good too.”

Chris groans and Craig laughs loudly. “Awful,” Chris says, covering his eyes. “Terrible chat.”

“Nah,” Craig says. “You love it, Woakes.”

“Do I though,” Chris says, and Craig pouts a bit. 

“When you coming down here again?” Chris asks, nudging him. “We still need to get you down the Villa for a game.”

“Soon,” Craig promises. “I want to.”

 

Chris drops him off at New Street again. He doesn’t park this time, just pulls over and gives Craig a hug across the hand brake. “Thanks for coming,” he says. “It was really nice.”

Craig looks at him for a moment and then smiles. “Thanks,” he says. “We should do it again.”

He gets out of the car and then leans down to say, “Good luck in your first game.”

“You too,” Chris says. “See you at Edgbaston if not before.”

Craig pushes his sunglasses onto his face and waves, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the station.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it secret prompter, it was an absolute TREAT to write one of my favourite soft pairings.


End file.
